


James T Kirk's Birthday Snuggle

by trashyfiction



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble, Feel-good, Fluff, Gen, Multi, Star Trek Beyond, can be read as everyone/everyone or no one/no one, seriously this can be read as either a variety of pairings or as a bunch of platonic cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8033029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashyfiction/pseuds/trashyfiction
Summary: Direct continuation of the birthday party scene at the end of Beyond.  No real plot, this is pure group-bonding fluff and a meditation on the general intimacy of group dynamics created by the film





	James T Kirk's Birthday Snuggle

There’s no actual decision or discussion about it.  The party just doesn’t end, and, somewhere around 1:30, pillows start to show up, shoes that haven’t been already get kicked off, and everyone starts thinking that mimosas are a much better idea than anything harder.  Jim starts it, snatching a fat cushion Uhura’s got tucked under one arm and pulling her down to the floor with him to lean back against the pillow, which he props against a long, heavy ottoman.  Giggle-tipsy and still half high on day-old adrenalin, he throws one arm around her shoulders in a lazy bear-hug.

“You were so badass, with the things and the stuff.”

She elbows him in the ribs and grins.  “You mean my extreme technical proficiency in comms, vocal recognition, and advanced hand-to-hand combat?”

“Uh-huh,” Jim nods happily, then looks up, following navy-stockinged feet up long legs, past hands holding party-flutes of mimosas, and finally to Spock’s precisely quirked eyebrow.

“Were I not familiar with your usual verbal acuity, Jim, I would suggest you petition Nyota to aid you in improving your diction.  While ‘bad-ass’ at least carries some semantic merit, ‘things and stuff’ is egregiously imprecise.”

Uhura lets out an amused titter.  “That’s what I said.  Is one of those for me?”

Spock looks down at the glasses in his hands and gracefully lowers himself to sit cross-legged facing them.  “Indeed it is,” he says, placing the flute in her outstretched hand.

“And I suppose the birthday boy is just expected to get his own drinks, huh?”  Jim huffs loudly, eyes twinkling through a completely un-convincing scowl.

“Should you desire a beverage, Jim, you are welcome to this one.  I can easily acquire another.”

“Nope, too late,” Jim heaves himself off the floor, ruffling Spock’s hair as he goes, “I’m off into uncharted waters in search of fizzy things.  And maybe Bones.”

Spock stares after Jim with pointed quizzicalness as he leaves, then shifts to lean against the pillow with Uhura.  

“He is quite demonstrative tonight,” Spock comments, sipping at his mimosa.

Uhura leans into him, their shoulders touching.  “He’s glad to have us all here.  The touching,” she shrugs, smiling, “is his way of showing that.  Of reassuring himself.”

Almost imperceptibly, Spock leans sideways himself, pushing back against Uhura’s shoulder.  “An astute analysis, Nyota.”

A little while later, Jim’s back, two mimosas propped precariously between the fingers of one hand while his free arm, in something between a hug and a headlock, is slung around the neck of Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy.   Chekov follows with his arms full of pillows, and they all manage to sprawl themselves across the floor with their friends, propped against armchairs, sturdy end tables, and each other.  Jim winds up with his back against Bones’ chest, his legs across Spock’s thighs, and his toes wiggling winningly up at Uhura.  She gives his pinky a twist, and he yelps, champagne and orange juice sloshing over his fingers.

It’s not long before the whole party joins the party, Sulu plopping down with a sigh and the declaration that he’s ‘just resting his feet’ while Ben rolls an  indulgent eye at him and takes Demora off to bed; Jaylah gesturing emphatically to Scotty--“See, we are all sitting down now”; and Keenser curling up in a snoring, sniffling, somewhat corrosive heap.

Jim sighs expansively, a grin still lingering on his face.  “You guys are the best.  Chekov, bring me your hair.”

“But, Keptin, that would require that I move.”

Jim pouts.

Jaylah, lounging between the Jim-Bones-Spock-Uhura train and the Chekov-Sulu-Scotty-Keenser cluster, reaches one hand out to twirl Chekov’s curls while fluffing the other enthusiastically through Jim’s bangs.

Chekov hums happily, and Jim lets out a snorting chuckle.  “You should look into the ambassadorial track at the Academy.”

“This is what you wanted, yes?”

“Pretty much,” he admits.

She lets go of Jim’s bangs in favor of rearranging the pillows propped under her back, but continues to lazily play with Chekov’s hair.  Scotty lets out a snore.

“Perhaps it would be logical to relocate to sleeping quarters?” Spock suggests, raising an eyebrow at the snoring engineer.

Jim makes a dissatisfied noise and scoots, slumping down low until his head is in Bones’ lap and his legs are almost entirely spread over Spock’s, his ass awkwardly half-raised off the ground and resting against Spock’s thighs.  He gets The Eyebrow, but Spock doesn’t try to move.  

Uhura gives an ‘ugh’ of disgust and says, “You guys are impossible.  Come on, move.”  

She shoves Jim’s legs to the side, grabs for another two pillows and a folded blanket that have mysteriously appeared on the ottoman behind them, and manhandles Spock onto the floor next to Jim.  “Leonard, you too,” she says, throwing a pillow at his face.

“Far be it from me to argue with a woman,” he says and rearranges himself on the floor.  Jim snuggles happily between Bones and Spock, hand stretching across Spock’s chest to reach for Uhura’s.

“Thanks, Ny.”

“You’re welcome, you big baby.”

“You know, this is gonna wreak havoc on my aging back.”

Jim growls, locking his ankle over Bones’ calf to keep him from moving.

“Don’t worry, Octopus Boy, none of us are going anywhere.”

“Good,” Jim huffs, burying his face in Spock’s arm, “you better not.”

“Your presence is appreciated as well, Jim,” Spock says quietly, one hand rising to touch Jim’s arm where it stretches across his chest.

“Oh, for the love of…” Bones mutters sleepily.

“Leonard, do you require a statement of my regard for you as well?”

“Christ.  No. No, I’m good.  We’re good.  Go to sleep you sappy elf.”

And things peter off.  Sulu yawns awake at around four and makes his way home, peeking in at Demora before slipping in behind Ben and pressing a sleepy, comfortable kiss to the back of his neck.  Scotty rolls flat onto his back, head resting on Keenser’s belly, mouth wide open and snoring like a buzzsaw.  Jim shifts, spreads out, reaches like sunflower for the light, seeking contact with as many of his crew as possible.  His fingers curl over Uhura’s calf, his arm snugs tight around Spock’s knee and lower thigh.  Bones curves around Jim’s other side, knees tucked up and mouth centimeters from Jim’s shoulder, and Jim's legs tangle with Chekov’s and Jaylah’s, while Jaylah’s hand still twines in Chekov’s hair, his head cradled on her chest.

At five hundred hours,Commodore Paris’ personal yeoman enters and finds the room cluttered with upwards of fifty Enterprise crewmembers and officers deep in the sleep of the recently reforged.  The bridge crew might form the largest tangle of sleeping bodies, but they are by no means the only group spread out on the floor, sprawled over loveseats, or squeezed two deep into fashionably oversized armchairs.  The whole room has an aura of enchantment, as if the slight, youthful yeoman has only to say the magic word to rouse the sleepers into glorious action, but if they _don't_ say it, the crew might sleep forever.  

Commodore Paris’ orders, uttered with an amused quirk of her mouth and an uncharacteristic air of indulgence, do not include saying any magic words or rousing any warriors.  So the yeoman walks through the room on silent feet, leaving hydration and hangover cure hypos on coffee tables, spreading or tucking blankets where required, and wondering if they'll ever pull a tour of starship duty, and if they do, will they sleep this hard?  Something romantic and adventurous stirs in them as they pull a fleece blanket over the shoulders of a bruised and lightly snuffling starship captain, and they hope they will.


End file.
